Here, Kitty Kitty
by Misty Day
Summary: Something is lurking in Mordhaus and no one is exempt from its terror. Five interlocking stories, one from each band member's POV.


Hey everyone! I wanted to kick this month off with a scary story for Halloween. I wrote this originally for the Rockfic Halloween Challenge 2013 so it will be posted there as well at the end of this week. I wrote a series of what I like to call "long drabbles" for this and I think it works well. Please read and review but most of all, enjoy!

'

William Murderface exhaled loudly in the silence of his bedroom. The bell boomed slowly from the large clock at the end of the hall. It was midnight, October 31st. Well, he supposed it actually November 1st but tried not to think about it too much. To him, it was still Halloween. The decorations would remain for at least another week, giving Mordhaus an even spookier feel than usual. Halloween had always been Murderface's favorite holiday. As a kid he had loved getting to wear a mask and scare the children in his neighborhood, well into his late teens. Despite his grandmother's protests, he usually trekked all the nearby streets twice to get extra candy, enough to last well past Christmas.

Murderface used a cloth to clean the guts from his knife. He imagined they were human guts, even though they were just the entrails of a pumpkin. They had been so busy with touring that he hadn't had a chance to carve a jack-o-lantern until today. No one had wanted to help, claiming it was silly and childish. The bassist was used to carving pumpkins alone by this point. It took his love of knives to another level, using them to create something he found beautiful. The jack-o-lantern's face was hideous, menacing and best of all, looked even more terrifying with a few candles inside.

He scooted a few feet back, still wiping his knife as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. A few seconds later and all he saw was the twisted face lighting the blackness around him. Murderface seemed entranced by the figure, the candles making the eyes come to life. It would have been a lonely moment if not for the contentment he found in this yearly ritual.

A quiet, metallic sound in the corner was not enough to draw his attention at first; he was used to those. The giant crash that followed, however, was enough to make him jump up from the floor and brandish his knife at the disturbance. He felt cold. He squinted in the darkness and saw that his suit of armor had fallen over.

Fallen…or been tipped?

He didn't feel alone anymore. Murderface knew the armor was held up by a support rod and could not have simply fallen. His eyes shot over to the door, which was securely locked. No one was in the room or one of the security cameras would have alerted the Gears. The bassist, though surrounded by weapons and locked inside of a room that he knew was secure, felt very uneasy, like he was being watched. There were no windows to produce a draft, yet the candles flickered inside the pumpkin. His yellow eyes shifted and he saw the lights in the pumpkin were leaning left, as if being blown. For a few seconds, he thought it looked like the pumpkin was staring toward the armor.

He tried to lick his lips but his tongue was dry, despite the two beers he had drank while carving. Murderface was suddenly thankful he had removed his boots earlier, making it easy to move silently across the floor. Still, to his ears his movements were far too loud. What was there to sneak up on? he thought. The light from the pumpkin wasn't going to be enough to see clearly and he knew that, but continued toward the armor anyway. The knife was extended and his hand shook, something he seemed unable to control for a moment. He didn't dare to stop the sweat creeping down his forehead. He held his breath until he was sure he saw nothing lying in the metal heap. He lowered his knife and sighed, wanting to feel silly but still uneasy.

The moment William Murderface closed his eyes and was certain it had all been in his mind there was a creak behind him. He began to turn his head. Another loud crash rattled him completely and he cried out, adrenaline pumping as he ran toward the door with his knife raised. But it was already gone. Whatever had been in his room was now running down the hallway at full speed. Though he ran after it he got no further than the doorway. He had no idea what it was or how it had opened his door. He knew for certain that it was small and not human, a dark streak in the pitch black hallway. Murderface didn't call the Gears, didn't text any of the guys and certainly got no sleep that night. He simply closed his door, locked it again and sat wide awake on his bed until morning.

'

The loud, low bonging sound filled the hallway. It also filled Pickles throbbing head.

It was Halloween and the drummer had been drinking for most of the day. A premature sickness had overtaken him two hours ago. He hadn't drunk that much, yet found himself standing over the toilet for the better part of an hour. He had cursed to himself, swearing never to drink again. He always did that when he threw up alone.

The echoes from the clock finally faded away and Mordhaus was back to total silence. Why was it so quiet? He wasn't sure. Maybe the other guys turned in early too. Yeah; and maybe Hell had frozen over.

Pickles rolled over and his head throbbed audibly. He groaned, silently praying he wouldn't need to get up again to wretch his guts. The very thought of it made bile rise in his throat and staggered to the door. He made it to the bathroom just in time. He flushed, brushed his teeth and simply looked at himself in the mirror for a while. The drummer felt strangely disgusted with himself. He splashed cold water on his face and dried it. Pickles started walking back to his room in defeat. A loud clanging sound came from the other end of the hall but he paid little attention. There was always something loud going on when the five of them were home. Just as he approached the door he heard an odd growling sound, seeming to echo down the long hallway just as the bells in the clock had. He stopped cold in his tracks.

He didn't want to look. He didn't want to step out of the bathroom. He didn't want to admit something was actually there…but he knew something was. It was in the hallway waiting for him. Pickles suddenly felt very unsettled. The pulsing sound was back in his head again. Just as quickly as his fear had overtaken him his curiosity was also piqued.

The redhead took careful steps forward, his green eyes focused. He reached the door, putting his hand on the threshold and peeking out. He looked all around and saw nothing but the sound seemed louder than ever.

The growl evolved into a dull roar and then a sudden, screeching cry that was there and gone in an instant. Pickles jumped backward and slammed the door, locking it and leaning on it with all of his strength. His moist forehead touched the door and his head slid sideways. The pulsing was back. So was the puking. He ran for the toilet and made it in time again. This time a few tears squirted from his eyes. Something felt off. Something was wrong. A bad energy overtook him each time he got close to the door so he stayed away, sitting on the edge of the tub for quite some time. Pickles finally felt the sickness subside but the bad energy remained. He admittedly felt silly for sitting in the bathroom but stayed anyway.

He sighed and pulled out his phone, deciding to check his emails and look at stuff online until he felt like leaving. The first thing he noticed was that he had a text from Nathan. It read:

'Hey man, just wanted to let you know that we gave you non-alcoholic beer tonight. We got treats, you got the trick!'

Pickles sat dumbfounded, unable to believe what he had just read. He had been stone cold sober the entire night. The stuff tasted convincing enough. He wanted to laugh it off, admit it was a clever joke and that he would get Nathan back for it. He wanted to think of anything other than what he was thinking at the moment.

It wasn't a joke...it was payback.

'

Skwisgaar was still awake, guitar across his lap, fingers rapidly sliding up and down the neck. He didn't usually write new music when he couldn't sleep. On a typical sleepless night he went through every song in Dethklok's catalogue in order. Something about the mindlessness of his activity helped his mind to shut down. He wondered if he was the only one awake. It was a little after midnight and he had heard two doors slamming so he figured some of the other guys were still up too.

He didn't have his amp on. The quietness of the notes was soothing to the Swede, who had been on edge all day. He wanted to be left alone, though he wasn't sure why. He felt short-tempered and easily agitated. He had already snapped on Murderface for asking him to carve a pumpkin with him and at Pickles for very convincingly pretending to be drunk. Nathan had given him two full pitchers of non-alcoholic beer. Pickles loved it and wouldn't shut up about it. Skwisgaar had had his fair share of real alcohol to drink that evening, another reason why he was puzzled as to why he wasn't more tired.

If he wasn't already playing his Gibson without the amp he would have gotten really frustrated when the power went out. He stopped playing and breathed a heavy sigh into the room. The guitarist knew that it would be back on soon. No doubt a Gear had already been dispatched to go to the circuit breaker box to turn it back on. Until then he figured he would relax his hands. He sat the guitar in its stand, carefully feeling around for it in the complete darkness.

A few minutes passed. Skwisgaar eased back on the bed and waited but the lights never came on. Even without light and sound, the Swede still found himself wide awake. He decided to get his flashlight and walk to the breaker box to check things out. His wakefulness did nothing to aide his patience. He gathered the flashlight from under his bed and clicked it on. A scampering sound in the hallway caught his attention. The footfalls were light and quick. He knew that it couldn't be one of his bandmates or any of the Klokateers, who made much heavier steps. Something about the sound was familiar but he couldn't quite place where he had heard it before.

Without further thought he opened his door, absentmindedly letting go of the door and allowing it to slam into the wall. The scampering stopped near the end of the long hallway, the very moment Skwisgaar's flashlight touched it. The light was dim and the creature was not close, but when he squinted the guitarist could almost make out its form. The creature turned to face Skwisgaar. It was small, had black, matted fur, a long tail and green eyes which refracted the light which was being shined on it. It kept its gaze on the guitarist, moving its head slightly from side to side as if trying to focus its eyes to see him. Skwisgaar felt like hands had reached through his chest and squeezed the air from his lungs. He couldn't breathe. His grip on the flashlight tightened and the light went out. He loudly swallowed a breath and smacked the flashlight, causing it to come back on.

But the creature was gone. He thought he heard it scamper down the steps at the end of the hall but reasoned that it could have been in his head. He didn't care. He went back to the darkness of his bedroom and, rather than getting back in bed, sat a chair in the corner, keeping the light focused on the door. He had no idea how long the batteries would last but figured the light would be gone long before his conscience let him rest.

'

Nathan Explosion had had his eyes on the security cameras for some time. He waited patiently to see the expression on Pickles' face when he realized he'd been given non-alcoholic beer. He thought it would be best to prepare himself for the punch he no doubt deserved. Instead, he saw something that truly puzzled (and even disturbed) him.

Nathan had been typing a text to Pickles when he saw Murderface's door open. The odd thing was that he didn't see Murderface actually opening the door. He did however see him close it in a hurry. Nathan then observed Pickles run to the bathroom, open the door and then close it. Most recently he had watched as Skwisgaar opened his door, shined his flashlight into the hall and retreated back inside. What was going on?

The singer picked up the red security phone and tried to call a Gear to look into the power outage but the line was dead. Odd, he thought. No matter, he could always walk to the barracks and rouse someone to fix it. Nathan decided to review the footage to see if he could more clearly discern what seemed to have the guys spooked. He rewound the tapes simultaneously to see the events in sequence. He stopped them all right around midnight. He still didn't see anything. He used an editing program to lighten the videos and that was when he saw it: a small, furry creature that seemed to emerge from a shadow near the clock at the end of the hallway. It moved quickly but limped at the same time. Nathan's breath hitched in his throat as he watched what happened next.

The creature disappeared into the dark spot in front of Murderface's bedroom door. A moment after the door opened and closed, it reappeared and stalked toward the bathroom. Pickles didn't notice the creature as he ran past it. When that door opened, the creature arched its back and the door slammed again. The closer to the other end of the hall it got the clearer Nathan saw it. He saw a pair of glowing green eyes and something glittering on its chest that he couldn't make out. It seemed to flash when Skwisgaar's light shined on it. The cameras malfunctioned for a moment when the flashlight blinked off, a weird blurry line crossing the screen then disappearing. The singer felt the color drain from his face. Clearly no one else knew what it was but knew to stay away. Nathan hated to admit it but knew that this was in his charge now. He would have to walk to the Gear barracks so the matter could be investigated.

He paused the footage and stood. Just as his hand touched the knob a sound stopped him dead in his tracks. He looked down. The light from the monitors was just bright enough to see that there was a black paw sticking under the door. For a split second he thought it was his imagination…until it started moving. Nathan heard himself cry out as he tripped, losing his footing as he tried to step backward. He hit the wall first, knocking the plugs loose that powered the security monitors. The screens lost power and went out. His arm ached from an attempt to catch himself as he fell. He heard the claws of the creature scratching the carpet under the door for a full minute before it was gone, padding down the hallway and leaving Nathan the only band member who knew exactly what he had just seen.

'

Toki woke up around 10AM. He was the only one who had gotten any sleep the night before. He still had a remnant of black paint around his eyes. He had gone trick-or-treating the night before, sneaking out into a neighborhood with a mask and pretending to be a really tall kid. The guys all thought he was a really tall kid anyway. He'd gotten a big bag of candy and had given himself an extra insulin shot to eat some of it.

Toki was in a pair of black pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His feet were bare. He loved the feeling of the carpet on his feet. It was always too cold to go around the house without socks in Norway. He yawned and tried to straighten his hair with his hands as he went. He flinched as he felt something wet on the carpet. He looked down and saw something that set his face alight. Little muddy paw prints littered the carpet. The guitarist was unable to stop the shout of pure joy that escaped his throat. Skwisgaar's door flew open and the Swede emerged angrily, black circles under his eyes from his long, sleepless night.

"Toki, what ams it?" he growled, stepping toward the Norwegian vigorously. Toki did not notice how upset his bandmate was.

"He ams back!" Toki exclaimed, running down the hall. "Looks!"

Pickles opened the bathroom door, his hands on the side of his head as if he was hung over. Toki cleared the hallway by the time Pickles was able to ask Skwisgaar what was going on.

"You looks…terribles," Skwisgaar mumbled.

"You don't look so good yourself, dude," Pickles retorted.

About that time, William Murderface slammed his door open and stomped into the hallway.

"What'sch all the yelling about?" he demanded.

Skwisgaar's pale finger pointed to the carpet in front of them. Murderface and Pickles gasped in unison.

"I knew it," Nathan said as he walked up behind them, causing the three men to jump. "But…how is this possible?"

The four men were silent. They stared at the carpet until they heard Toki screaming again from the kitchen. They all stumbled down to the kitchen were Toki was kneeling on the floor. He was holding something.

"He cames back, look!" He was holding an empty cat dish. "Mitten dranks all his milk like a good kitty. I wonders where he ams now."

Toki started opening all the cabinets, finding nothing but stored food. The other four band members stood dumbfounded.

"I ams goings to check up in my room in his bed, maybes I didn't sees him this mornings!" the youngest member shouted before running out of the room and back up the steps.

"There is no way this is happening," Nathan spoke to no one in particular.

No doubt each of their minds were going back to that terrible day. Toki's cat, Mitten, was solid black. No one was sure why he named the cat Mitten but Toki insisted it was a good name. It followed him around everywhere and he played with it all the time. Mitten was all he talked about when they were away on tour. It drove the guys crazy. Nathan hated it because it always tried to get in his room, clawing under the door until he either opened it or stuffed towels under it to keep the cat out. Murderface hated it because it always came into his room and knocked over his expensive torture devices.

One day at breakfast the guys were waiting for Toki to get out of the shower. The cat was at the table, waiting for him. Toki always gave Mitten milk in a dish next to the fridge first thing each day. It kept mewing, crawling around their legs to get attention. It wasn't doing anything harmful and they knew it. Still, it didn't stop Pickles from suggesting something cruel.

"Just open the door and let it outside," he had said casually.

And Nathan did just that. He opened the door and Mitten went outside. Toki came downstairs and no one said a word when he asked where his cat was. Toki's attitude that his cat was probably just hiding and he would see him later eventually wore on their consciences. After a few days it ate away at each of them. Toki became increasingly worried and even cried one night. The other four went out to look for the black cat. Skwisgaar was the first to see him. The cat had wandered into the street and been hit by a car. A quick discussion led to them all agreeing to bury it and not tell Toki. Pickles felt by far the worst, his suggestion leading to the cat's fate. The drummer agreed to be responsible for the burial. He was literally sick with grief, unable to stop throwing up. Toki made little signs and hung them up in a few neighborhoods but no one ever contacted him. He walked through Mordhaus and around the grounds outside and called out to Mitten constantly. After a month Toki gave up. His friend was gone. The only thing he still did was dutifully refill the cat's milk dish each night on the off-chance that he came back.

Toki walked back down the steps a moment later. The spring in his step was noticeably gone. His voice was sounded broken.

"His collars ams here but…no Mitten."

The guys turned and saw a single tear flowing down Toki's pale cheek. His shaking hands held the collar, the cat's shiny silver nametag hanging from the leather strap that was once around its neck.

"Ams…you guys playings a jokes on me?" Toki asked, his eyes too pitiful for words. They all shook their heads.

"I feels so sad," Toki sighed. "I really thoughts my cats was back."

Toki left the kitchen and walked back to his room. The mood was soul-crushingly heavy.

"I…think I'm going to be sick," Pickles groaned before leaning over and throwing up on the floor. No one noticed.


End file.
